It was a particularly disreputable lot that Norrington had to contend with. While service to King and Country (or queen, in the instance of HM Queen Anne) imbued one with its own distinct brand of honor not found anywhere on this blue Earth, it chafed to serve under the likes of Lord Cutler Beckett.

Not even a true hereditary lord in his own right, Beckett had achieved his rank and title through treachery, avarice, and rank deception. He was a despicable example of a human being, and it thoroughly ached to have to stoop to his level to recover his career. Better a British admiral than a pirate, but better to have honor than dishonor. Norrington would stay with Beckett so long as he was enabled to serve the law?hunting down pirates was not morally objectionable. That was duty. Someday, he knew, Beckett would have to be stopped. Treason? Never. Perhaps, if Governor Swann could be found, there could be a way to stop him. For now, Beckett had disobeyed no law: he?d displayed manifest greed, but there was nothing wrong with that.

Governor Weatherby Swann was a fine individual though. Norrington had known him since the beginning of his career, and there was a fine example of nobility. Governor Swann was a well-bred patrician through-and-through and it seemed that only those highborn individuals were truly capable of fairness and justice whereas those just below, unpossessed of such a fine anchor into the past, would be the horrendously brutal sorts. After all, it was the merchant class that had created the East India Company and it was the merchant class that spearheaded most of the brutalities here in the West Indies. No noble himself, Norrington thanked his stars that he had the fine example of Governor Swann to hold as an exemplar of honor. If it wasn?t for his long experience with the good governor, he?d be just like these cronies that Beckett had assembled.

Take this Vice Admiral Warren, for instance. Here was one who would never be knighted by HM the Queen, for his career was one of wanton slaughter and needless brutality. He had yet to realize that generating fear in one?s enemies was not an adequate compensation for talent: it made an effective weapon, but the Royal Navy was not here to terrorize inhabitants. Norrington was very familiar with this one, and disliked him immensely. He was fit for the brood of Lord Cutler Beckett.

Captain Ashton Rackham stood alongside the revolting vice admiral. This fellow with the mismatched eyes was master of HMS Nereus, a fifth-rate frigate that had joined their forces here at Port Royale. A suitably quick vessel, Nereus would do much to make up for the loss of HMS Interceptor some years earlier and her thirty-two guns made her a general match for any pirate vessel. While not as fleet as the beautiful HMS Britannia, Nereus made up for it in mobility.

Captain in Her Majesty?s Marines, Richard Baker was in command of a triple-rig known as HMS Hawke. Norrington knew practically nothing about the man at all, save that he was a redcoat captain. Very well, he would learn more about him when witnessing boarding actions and the like.

Then there was Lieutenant Michæl Lannister. A proper dandy, this young man had shown a fastidiousness that both amused Norrington and exasperated him. The polar opposite of the rough and tumble vice admiral, this young man was one of the conceited gentry: ever protective of their position and ever conscious of it. God save us from the rich and the snobbish!

Sir James Norrington was not a noble, just a simple knight of the Order of Britain. Yet he did possess the sense of chivalry and honor that came with such a title, as well as the duty inherent in being an officer in Her Majesty?s Navy. He liked to think himself as the epitome of the model officer: he didn?t have the natural grace of an aristocrat like the Swanns (though he had hoped marriage with a highborn lady, particularly

Ned sat down by the well, peering into the blackness below. Doing so made him wonder, is that what death was like? A never-ending black pit that consumed you for all eternity? He wasn't so sure he wanted to do that quite yet, but he figured it could possibly be better than living the life he was living now.

Ned had lived at Tortuga for years now, drinking as if everyday were his last. Of course, he loved drinking, but he was bored out of his mind. The fights in the bars began to grow tiresome, boring; he barely even got hurt anymore. His two black swords began to grow dull, he had no need to sharpen them when he never got into any real fights.

However, that all was about to change; he had heard some very promising news: a few ships had docked at the Tortuga harbor. If he played his cards right, it would be very possible that he could board one, and restart his life as an official pirate out at sea.

Ned stood from the well, taking his glance away from the deep pit that lay within. He was aware that it was his fault he was so blasted bored, he could have tried to board with a ship everyday for the past few years. But, he had no motivation. Now, it's a different story...

He began walking towards the harbors. As he passed the La Ray bar, a bar he had been in numerous times, he saw Thomas Rickard, or Deadeye, a man he knew from previous interactions. He stopped, thought for a moment, and entered the bar.

Ned saw Deadeye by the bar. He moved next to the one-eyed man, sat down, and received a mug of rum. He took a small sip and turned to Deadeye. He looked at him, and took a large gulp, before saying, "'Ello there, mate." He took another sip. "Are ye busy?" He took another sip.

Barbossa trudged along in the crowd, a grimace still on his face. He didn't really know why he was so grumpy these days. Maybe it was sailing with Turner and the rest. Perhaps it was the Pearl's demise. Or perhaps just a weariness at starting something new. Meh. He was... uneasy... about something. Something was amiss somewhere down the line.... like an annoying nat pulling at your mind.

Bah.

Barbossa found his way up the steps to the Inn, passing some seemingly drunk Pirate on the way in and went up to the desk...

"I'd be likin' a room." he said, pulling up his satchel. Looking at the scrawny Innkeeper made him smile. He liked messing people, and this tall drink of water could easily be fooled around with.

As he was setting up to do something especially strange, the man was interrupted by a voice from behind him...

"Excuse me, but I be wondering, would ye be havin' room abord yer ship for someone searching for the end of the earth? Me father took off to sea two years ago in search of it, and I be looking for a way to go after him... to find if he be dead or alive."

Barbossa set the satchel down and turned very slowly to look down at the lass that had spoken those words, admiring and observing her every feature...

Barbossa bent down to look her straight in the eye... Time to see what this one was made of."

"And why ... would ye be thinking I'd be going to the end of the earth, ey Missy?"

[=] His one eye glanced over his mug at the man who had addressed him; he wasn?t surprised to see Ned Morgan, and old acquaintance. He took another swig of his drink, clinking it down before responding to the question. His voice was a growl; to most, it would come off as if he was annoyed by the mere existence of anyone addressing him. In truth, it was just the way he was; gruff and direct. He preferred his business that way, though that did not mean he was unable to engage in ?pomp and fluff? conversation. [=]

?Not presently.?

[=] He turned in his seat to face Morgan, the tails of his crimson bandana draping over his broad shoulder. His skin was tanned, dark, due to continued exposure to the sun. Crows' legs adorned the corner of his one good eye from constant squinting against that same sun, his strong jaw set. He was no mass of muscle, to be sure, but he definitely was in good shape. His toned forearms attested to that. His hands, however, bore the many striations of lighter skin that signified scarring; past lacerations to the skin by the blades of his opponents. His forearms bore similar markings, though not as numerous; his skill with the sword was bought and payed for not only with shillings, but with blood. Technique was learned in a controlled environment; true skill was gained through experience.
He retrieved his mug, again taking a swig. Once Rickard was finished, he gestured towards Morgan with said mug. [=]

?D?ye have a proposition in mind, Morgan, or did ye come here for bluster an? idle chat??

[=] Rickard, obviously, was not one for small talk. He preferred his words to be like combat; short, and to the point. The atmosphere of his old life retained quite the opposite feel, and Rickard desired to distance himself from such an environment as much as possible, literally and figuratively. Hence, his residence in Tortuga; not many spoke with words, here, but actions. Actions revealed the honesty, or lack thereof, in a man moreso than his words... or so Rickard maintained. A man could easily swear allegiance, but it was when he attempted to slip the knife between your shoulders that you knew where his true loyalties lay. Morgan was the type of man ol? Deadeye knew he could trust; past interactions had shown him that Morgan was a good man to have at your side. Allegiances could shift in a moment, but never with this pirate; one always knew where he stood with Ned. It was one of the reasons Rickard had refrained from drawing his sword. [=]

Polly eyed the red head and his various weapons. Another unemployed pirate!
She hoped a ship would arrive soon and hire these scalwags.

Tortuga was never paradise, but Polly had made a good living, however if the British kept tightening their nooses and the East India Trading Company strengthening their monopoly on shipping it would bode ill for everyone on Tortuga.

Polly held out her palm to the pirate.
"M'dear.." she said imitating his brogue " There be no tab. The King's good gold if ye don't mind...and don't try pickin the pockets of these gentlemen...your hands where I can see em."

Ragetti dragged a table towards a part of the tavern, while Ragetti rotated a chair so it was placed behind the table.

This was the most respectable and unselfish thing they've ever done. The real Pintel and Ragetti would have filled themselves up with Rum at the bar instead of trying to recruit crewmen to save their old Captain. But here they were... trying to save Capn Jack.

"Good sirs!" Pintel called out, sitting behind behind the table, "How would you fancy to travel to the Edge of the World, seeking fame, fo'tune, and beautiful lassies!"

"M'dear.." she said imitating his brogue " There be no tab. The King's good gold if ye don't mind...and don't try pickin the pockets of these gentlemen...your hands where I can see em."

"Ai Lass." He said with a grim look on his face, one hand slowly moving to his belt. "Ya wouldn' be accusin' me o' bein' a comm'n T'ief now would ya? I's not tha' I don' have tha gold, i's tha' I like to lose it all at 'nce ratha than watchin' it slowly trickle out o' me pouch." He said, not taking his eyes of her, or her hands, which he knew might soon be grabbing for a weapon hidden benieth the bar. His own hand slid onto the butt of his pistol, and then backwards, past the head of his axe, untill it finally reached it's destination, his money pouch.

He tossed a gold coin onto the counter, and slowly brought his hand back up to the counter top, where it came to rest just as gun fire was heard from outside.

It was getting to be that time of the day, when raping, plundering and pillaging were all the rage, and anyone was fair game. In the time he'd been here, Patrick hadn't seen an incident with in the Tavern itself, but that didn't mean it wasn't going to happen. It just meant the scallywags hadn't found their way down here yet.

Yet.

"So, how about tha' drink?"

Tag: Mermaid Tavern

OOC:

Just to make the distinction, when he says Tha', it is a shortened that, and pronounced with a long Ahh sound, while Tha (with out the apostrophe) is a different pronuciation of the, pronounced with a short ah sound.

"Not presently," said Deadeye, in response to Ned's question. Ned smiled, slightly before taking a drink of his rum.

"Good, good," he said. He had known 'ol Deadeye for quite sometime now, and knew that he would be a good man -- a good pirate -- for the quest ahead.

"D'ye have a proposition in mind, Morgan, or did ye come here for bluster an' idle chat?" Thomas asked. Ned took another drink of his rum, realising that Deadey was not one for small talk; he prefered in his conversations to be short, to the point. Ned was quite similar, so he decided now was as good time as any to ask.

He looked at his rum, thinking if he should finish it off now, and ask for more, or wait until he asked his question, and then finish it off. "Get me some more," he said to the bartender as he made his decision, finishing the rest of his rum.

"I come here to ask ye a question. Would ye be interested in taking to the sea with me, one more time?" He didn't want to waste any more of Deadeye's time, so he asked the question straight out. If he denied, Ned would finish the rum he just received, and set off. If he accepted, Ned would finish the rum and set off, with Deadeye by his side; something that was quite reasuring to him as he was about to set sail...He took another drink of his rum.

"And why ... would ye be thinking I'd be going to the end of the earth, ey Missy?" the man sad, his voice gruff and his eyes looking strait at her's.

He's trying to intimidate me. Auryn thought, lifting her chin just a tad as she looked straight back at him. "I ask ev'y cap'n that comes to port if they can take me to the ends of the earth. They all think me a fool, that it don't exist. But I swears, it does. My father is there, I just know it."

Auyrn looked the man over. Then her brilliant green eyes looked back to his. She continued, a bit more slowly and conentraited. "And you have a cer'n air about you, sir, that just gives me the feeling you know wha I be speakin of."

Pausing, she caught a glimps of herself in a mirror across the room, reminding her that she was, infact, a girl. "And if ye be worried that I can't hold me own, I promise you, I can take on any master swordsmen with me eyes closed." She tapped her rapier. "Me father, Captain Deigo Montoya of the Spanish Heart, raised me for ten years 'board his ship. I be knowing how to sail as well as fight."

Erika waited for about one hour before leaving. "It seems like Bill doesn't want his information..." she said as she got up. Erika noticed some activity in a bar. Being curious, she walked over to the bar to see what was happening. Erika thought it was some sort of a fight, but she was wrong. As she entered the bar, which was The La Ray Bar, she noticed some people in line. As Erika got in line she saw people starring at her and whispering "Look, there's Phantress Carpter..." Erika just ignored them. When it was her turn, she saw it was something to sign up for.

"Excuse me, Monsieur, what is this that people are signing up for?" Erika asked a man who looked like he was french.

"Excuse me, Monsieur, what is this that people are sighning up for?" A young woman asked Leroux, she spoke in a French accent.

"Good evening, mon cher," Leroux getted warmly, recalling the word. He hadn't used French in years. "My name is Erik Leroux, known as Le Loup. These men are signing up for a position on the crew of the Black Dagger under Captain Hector Barbossa. We are sailing to the Ends of the Earth. May I take your name?"

[=] Rickard?s brow rose at Morgan?s proposition; if he was hard-pressed enough to request the presence of Deadeye, then this quest was truly worth the time. His ears caught the voices of the other pirates, and he directed his gaze in their direction; there was certainly some commotion. The name ?Barbossa? caught his attention; the old captain of the Pearl had died, though. Hadn?t he?
Rickard returned his attention to Morgan, and inclined his head towards the small line forming, and the men with the paper, jerking his thumb in the same direction. [=]

?Would it ?ave somethin? t?do with the little recruitment drive in the corner, there??

[=] Rickard was definitely interested; a quest to the ?End of the World? sounded a bit exaggerated to him, but if Barbossa had indeed returned from the dead, then anything was to be believed. Much in this world took place, and not all of it could be fully understood. Rickard knew this well; such as the existence of the Flying Dutchman. He had never personally come across it, but he had heard stories of the immortal captain; how he would search for dead or dying, and give them seemingly eternal life. Other stories had been floating around, as well; the kraken beast intrigued him greatly. He would prefer never to be faced with such a creature, in all honesty, but the stories always caused him to keep an open ear. [=]

?If?n it is, you have my services. But I want t?know the nature of this little adventure, here; no fool would seek crew this far ?nto Tortuga ?lest they were seekin? th? best.?

[=] Rickard leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. Esmeralda slipped by to pick up his mug, a small pout on her face upon learning that Rickard hadn?t finished. He payed no attention; the wench would get over it in due time, and he?d be back in for another. Right now, his full attention was focused upon Morgan, and the explanation that was soon to come. [=]

"Well, Ms. Erika," Leroux said, not so sure he should be revealing this information, "we're on a quest to save the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow. He was eaten, you see, by the Kraken. This strange voodoo woman told us where we can find him. Captain Barbossa knows the way, that's why he's leading us."

Turtle stepped up to the bar with the other men and set his empty glass on the counter. Glancing at the other blokes, then up at Veronica, he asked, "Can I have another?" He was one ugly dude, but had one hell of a Scottish accent. He looked at the stew one of the other guys was eating and Turtle's mouth began to water. "On second thought, lass, can I have what he's havin'?"

The Privateer started moving toward the inside the tavern, looking for those three pirates...

As he walked, Matthew Teach picked up bits and pieces of different conversations. One man said, "I hear she came in port early this morning."

"Yes, the Queen Anne's Revenge. I hear they're looking for someone."

Oh sod it... He's already here.

Finally seeing the blokes who talked about recruitment, Teach walked over to stand in line. He had to get on a ship, pronto, or else his Uncle may find him. Uncle Edward was the only pirate that knew of his nephew's recent alliance-change, and probably saw fit to stop him before something catastrophic happened. That, and Edward Teach gave Matthew a set of perfectly balanced swords. Probably wanted those back now that he knows I've turned anti-pirate.

Lord Matthew Teach, nephew to the famous Blackbeard, now stood in line, waiting until the woman ahead of him was quite finished.

Barbossa smiled at the rambunctious girl as she stood up to his intimidating question. Ha, she did have spunk. Or perhaps.... its what she's seeking that steels her nerve. Either way, the pirate captain was rather impressed. He rubbed his bearded chin as he snagged the key to his room from the frightened innkeeper.

"Hm." he said, eying the girl from full height. "What be ye, a psychic of some kind? Ta know where I be heading is quite a trick, lass."

Barbossa turned towards the stairs up to the upper floor and ushered for the girl to follow him...

"Have ye ever heard of one Tia Dalma?" he asked, not looking back at her as he climbed...

The girl shouldn't have, but if this one is as she seemed, Tia had best have a look at her...

Elizabeth stuck close to Will as they wandered through Tortuga. It wasn?t that she was frightened ? she?d been on her own here before ? but she didn?t want to lose Will again. At least if they stuck close, and he ran off on some crazy, somewhat-noble quest, she could follow. About time, too. She?d been stuck at home for far too much of her life. It was good to finally have such freedom.

She kept watch for any potential crewmembers as they walked across the docks. There were always people sulking about, looking for work, though they would probably find the best recruits in one of the taverns.

?I think we ought to try to find at least two additions to the crew today,? she suggested to Will. ?That?s one each. Where shall we start??

TAG: Phoenix_Rising

IC: Kacia Andreakos

Kacia tried not to laugh at the parrot as her little party set out into town. Although she?d spent a few weeks on the ship, she still wasn?t used to the talking bird. The creature was almost like a person; it was creepy.

?I?m ready if you are,? she said to the boys as they walked off the ship. ?Where?ll we be going??

Rats did not quite expect that type of reaction from the lady who wanted to kill Bobby, and she stepped back as the sword pointed at her. Her guess was right on the mark, though, about a family member leaving her for the Ends of the Earth. The woman noticed someone who appeared to be a ship's captain leaving a ship that had just docked, and Rats was relieved that she was leaving. It was no wonder that people saw her as crazy.

Rats watched the ship, seeing a few people disembarking to go into Tortuga, and her hopes rose. Perhaps they could use a few more people to crew the ship. She moved closer to a couple who left the ship, close enough to hear the woman talking to the man.

"I think we ought to try to find at least two additions to the crew today," she said to the man. "That?s one each. Where shall we start?"

Rats walked up to them, making sure Bobby was in his pocket. She did not want to scare off a potential employer, and the woman did not look the type that would accept a rat easily.

"Did ya say ya need a crew?" Rats asked hopefully. "Well, I need a ship. I been spendin a few years sailin, and if ya be willin, I can show ya how good a sailor I can be."

"I've heard about the Kraken. I've heard about Captain Jack Sparrow. I've never heard of Jack getting eaten by the Kraken. You can count me in!" Erika said remembering all the stories about Jack Sparrow. "I'll do my best to bring back the best!" Erika thought.

Polly never took her eyes of the gentleman, even as her hand was held out for payment, the other hand was at her hip and the pistol she carried. She didn?t think he would be so foolish and smiled prettily when he tossed the coin onto the bar.

Through the necessity of the years, Polly had become an excellent shot and between Tom the ex prize fighter and herself there was very little trouble at The Mermaid. Besides, if something had happened to her - who would purchase the goods the pirates brought to port?

Polly?s open palm slowly moved towards the pirate?s face and her fingers softly caressed his cheek. Polly was proud of her hands, still soft after all these years. She faithfully applied her mother?s recipe for soft skin every night before she retired to her bed.

She had never forgotten the lessons her mother taught her in Venice all those years ago. Her mother was a Venetian courtesan and her mother before her and her mother?
Powerful women they were. Educated women in a time and society when women were not powerful or educated. Married women were only vessels to give birth to the necessary males to carry on the line. Polly was proud of her lineage - to be a Venetian courtesan was the only way a female could be educated, independent , own property and determine her own destiny.

But fate had other plans for Veronica and so she had found herself not in Venice but Tortuga , but she was still fiercely determined to be independent and - just as wealthy.

Polly?s hand slowly moved down the pirate?s cheek , the softness of her fingers in contrast to the roughness of his flesh. The sea and sun and wind dries and ages the skin. She guessed he was ..perhaps only a few years younger than she - but the elements could be harsh through the years.

Her hand glided down, the index finger the last to slowly caress under his chin. The hand claimed the gold coin and slipped it into her purse.

Polly did not flinch when the sound of the gun shot reverberated through the tap room. She had become use to such sounds.

Mr. Turtle, ( Polly loathed that name and preferred to call him Bob or Robert) had gambled up and she turned her attention to him. He asked for a drink but then changed his mind , seeing the bowl of steaming stew. The aroma was enticing.

. "On second thought, lass, can I have what he's havin'?"

?Of course, Bob, you know I can never refuse you anything,? she patted his hand. ?And you sir,? Polly said to the red headed pirate. No sense in making enemies, on Tortuga. .

?Would you care for a bowl of stew and fresh baked bread on the house to go with your drink??

Blake blinked. He'd been simply staring, occasionally sipping at his ale, but not paying attention to anything about him. Now, he had stew. He blinked again, and saw Ms. Fitzgerald hurrying off to help someone else after leaving him the bowl.

He smiled sadly--she had much to compassion in her to make much of a profit here on Tortuga. However, that compassion also protected her. There were a good deal of sea dogs who kept an eye out for troublemakers headed her way, running them off before she could be bothered.

Connor caught her eye as she busied about, smiling and nodding his thanks for the stew. The sailor turned his attention to it, and went back to considering his predicament.

There simply wasn't any good work. With the British hold growing, most of the pirate ships daring to head out to see were crewed by incompetant dreamers. Blake didn't dare sign up for one of those ships--he'd be facing the gallows before the end of the week.

The last offer he'd heard of was for Sparrow's last adventure. He'd edged far away from that--Sparrow's luck often carried him through the thick and thin, but his crew often didn't make out well. Just as well he hadn't signed on, as Sparrow was dead now. A pity, to be sure.

Continuing with the stew, he sighed. Maybe he should simply head north to the colonies, and look for some smuggling work? Unless something presented itself soon, he didn't see much else of a choice.

Not much else to do at the moment, though, he thought, and took a larger gulp of his ale.

TAG: Anyone in the area, really.

IC: Richard Baker

"Gentlemen," Beckett began, walking forward with a smile as the Nereus' gangplank was lowered. "Welcome to Port Royale. I'm sure you know Admiral Norrington, ranking officer of these waters to my right. And this is Lieutenant Lannister, a rising star in this navy. I trust your voyage went well?"

Baker waited for the other officers to comment first, having a feeling he'd be looked on as the odd man out. Before him stood Admiral Norrington, Lieutenant Lannister, and Lord Beckett. He knew of Beckett only by reputation, and had been surprised when he'd learned the man had personally requested Baker's transfer.

Of Norrington, he'd heard a great deal through the rumor mill. While he had no idea what the true details were in the Admiral's return to duty, the mere return itself displayed a great amount of skill and competancy.

The Lieutenant had straightened when Beckett introduced him. Baker barely managed to restrain an eyeroll. Probably just a jumped up piece of [language], he thought sourly. Perhaps Lannister would surprise him.

Rackham smiled after a deep bow to the Lord Governor. "Fairly, sir. I am most pleased with the Nereus, her being a new vessel and all," he said with a gesture to the elegant warship behind them. "I'm sure she will be most useful to us."

The Vice Admiral glanced at Baker, so he stepped forward. He raised his hat in salute to his new senior officer. "An honor, Admiral Norrington."

He then turned to Beckett to answer his questoin. "The voyage went rather well, Lord Beckett." He bowed in greeting. "The winds favored us, so we made good time," he said simply.